


No Man of Peace

by theonsfavouritetoy



Series: A Song of Our Own (Until Springtime) [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dependence - Freeform, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Spring is coming (slowly)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-06 12:11:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17939450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: “I have to keep watch,” Jon repeats, “I am the Watcher on the Wall.”





	No Man of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning! *yawns*
> 
> Here we have the sixth part for ASOIAF Rarepair week, prompt: Dorne // Beyond the Wall  
> Slightly altered from Beyond the Wall to At the Wall because, well. There's no Wall anymore.

_“If only we could go somewhere warm.”_

_Robb laughed. “It’s the middle of summer, you oaf. Isn’t that warm enough?”_

_Theon shrugged. North could never feel warm to him. He elbowed the bastard in the side. “How about Dorne, Snow? Might warm your cold, northern blood.”_

_“Are you asking Jon to elope with you?” Robb chuckled at Theon’s horrified expression, mirrored exactly by Snow. “Don’t look at me like that, you two. There’s that old saying, teasing is the sign of affection.”_

_“He’s not teasing me,” Snow muttered. “He’s just a right prick.”_

_“Ooooh, thinking about my prick, are you, Snow?” Theon cackled. “Then we might best go to Dorne for real, where I can show you all of its magic powers.”_

_“Shut up, Greyjoy,” said Snow, pouting like a silly girl._

***

Theon wakes up to an empty, cold bed, not for the first time these last weeks. Blinking into the darkness he can soon make out Jon’s silhouette, at the window as always, staring out into the night.

“Won’t you come to bed, my king?” Theon asks quietly. “It’s still too cold to be standing around like that.”

Jon doesn’t move, he doesn’t answer and with a sigh Theon turns onto his side. This has happened every couple of nights for some time now, since they’d received the raven from the Citadel. Winter is finally over. The days get warmer, but the nights are still cold.

The people in the castle were overjoyed at the news, and Jon had ordered the best wine from the cellars to be brought up to celebrate. There’s plenty of that left, and the men and women had drunk a fair quantity of it. Jon hadn’t touched his tankard all evening, staring over the heads of the crowd at something no one else could see. That’s how it started.

It’s been small things at first, things no one noticed but Theon. How Jon would go rigid at too much noise, how he’d try to inconspicuously cover his ears. When a metal rod had been dragged over the stone floor, producing a screeching sound, Jon had jumped up, hand on his sword, eyes wide and panicked.

“It reminded me of the dragons,” he’d said when Theon had asked him later. “It sounded like Rhaegal screaming in pain when he was shot from the sky.”

It’s two days later when Sansa notices something is wrong. They are standing on the newly finished gallery, the three of them, watching a handful of children play fight with sticks. They are shouting and shrieking, and Jon watches them with a smile on his face, when suddenly he starts.

“Stop it,” he mumbles, then, louder, “ _stop it you fucking little idiot!!”_

The children stare up at him, a little girl of maybe ten years lets her stick sink to the ground. Jon stares back, chest rising and falling quickly, his face contorted into a horrible grimace.

“Make them go away,” he pants, “make them stop. I want them to _fuck off!”_

The women in the courtyard quickly usher the children away. One of them is crying. Theon lays a hand on Jon’s arm, waiting for him to calm down. He knows it’s no use to talk to him right now. Sansa doesn’t know.

“Whatever has gotten into you?” she hisses. “They’re only children!”

“Sansa…” Theon starts, but Jon interrupts him.

“It’s not safe. Too much noise. We need to be quiet.”

“Jon, what--”

“How many guards do we have?” Jon asks, ignoring her interjection. “How many men?”

“Two,” Sansa replies, confusion on her face. “But what--”

“That’s not enough. I want six men to circle the castle at all times. Have it covered from all sides.”

“That makes no sense!”

“Am I the King in the North or not?” Jon grits his teeth, still staring straight ahead. His knuckles are white as he grips the wooden railing tightly. “You will do as I say. It is my decision.”

“If you think you can talk to me like that just because--”

“Shut up!” Jon snarls, throwing off Theon’s hand with an angry gesture before turning and marching away.

“Seven hells,” Sansa frowns, worry clouding her face. “Jon has never… he never was like this. So irrational.”

“Are you blind?” Theon shakes his head, annoyed with her. “That was not Jon. He’s not himself. Something is wrong.”

“And now you’re talking to me like that!” Sansa throws up her arms, exasperated. “Did I offend one of you in some way?”

“Sorry,” Theon mutters. “It’s not your fault. He’s been acting strange ever since peace has been declared. Since we know that Winter is over.”

Sansa studies him for a long moment before she sighs, leaning against him. “But he seemed to be fine. He seemed to be doing so well.”

“I know,” Theon says.

***

Another night, another nightmare. Theon has gotten used to it, to Jon thrashing and twisting, to his snarls and shouts. Theon doesn’t mind that it disturbs his sleep. It just means he gets to wake up from his own hell, his own demons. And it means Jon needs him again.

He shouldn’t enjoy it, not something that gives Jon pain, but Theon can’t help how much he relishes holding Jon close until his racing heart calms, until his breath gets even. He doesn’t mind being in the line of fire, when Jon blindly lashes out and hits him. Theon knows he doesn’t mean to. He never mentions it. No, the nightmares are not a problem for Theon.

What makes him really worried are the other nights, when Jon doesn’t sleep at all. When he stands at the window like a statue, waiting and staring, cold as marble. But this time Theon doesn’t turn away and leaves him be. It’s a chilly night and Jon isn’t wearing enough.

Theon gets up, dragging one of the furs with him. Jon doesn’t move a muscle when he drapes it over his shoulders. He doesn’t react when Theon wraps his arms around him, when he brushes his hair back.

“What are you doing, Jon?” Theon asks. No answer, so he tries a different approach. “Answer me, Snow!”

Slowly Jon turns his head, and Theon flinches at the look in his eyes. Haunted, harried. Not himself.

“I’m keeping watch,” he says at length. “I need to keep watch.”

“The guards are on duty, my king. They won’t let anyone pass.”

“I have to keep watch,” Jon repeats, “I am the Watcher on the Wall.”

Theon shivers, it’s as if Jon isn’t even here. The Wall doesn’t exist anymore, the Night’s Watch is extinct. There’s only one crow left, and he’s down south with his family. Jon hasn’t been one of them in a long time.

“You fulfilled your oath. Your watch has ended. The country is at peace.”

A tremble goes through Jon and he loses his rigid posture, heavily sinking against Theon. He shakes his head, over and over again.

“I’m not cut out for peace,” he whispers. “There’s always been something to watch out for. Lady Stark’s wrath, your japes, wildlings, walkers, kings and queens and dragons, winter itself…” His shoulders twitch under Theon’s arm. “I’m useless now. Obsolete. A relict. The only thing I know is how to fight. Theon…”

Theon staggers under Jon’s weight, surprisingly heavy despite how thin he’s become, and they sink to the floor. Jon is inconsolable, muttering nonsense between dry sobs, and Theon cannot help him at all. He’s never felt so inadequate, desperate to ease Jon’s pain and not able to.

“I should’ve stayed at the Wall,” Jon gasps, “I should’ve helped them. They’re all gone now and it’s my fault, I failed them!”

“You would have taken on the Ice Dragon all by yourself? Without Daenerys and her other children you’d never have made it. None of what happened was your fault.”

Theon knows what fault is. He’s been doing things, knowingly, that make him sick to his stomach after all this time. Jon is different. Jon is not guilty of any crime.

“I’m so cold,” Jon mumbles. “It’s spring and now I’m cold.”

Theon strokes his hair, wipes away tears, kisses every inch of his face, and Jon lets him, Jon clings to him, hard enough Theon can’t breathe. And suddenly he remembers, a conversation the three of them had had so often, Jon, Robb and him, the thought of a warm place like a talisman back then.

“Let’s go to Dorne, my king,” Theon whispers in Jon’s ear.

And Jon remembers too, he makes a noise between a laugh and a cry, weakly hitting Theon’s chest.

“Aye. Fuck this place. Let’s go to Dorne.”

**Author's Note:**

> As if Jon would ever. Ten dragons couldn't get him south again.
> 
> If you think this has a happy ending...
> 
> ...you've been absolutely paying attention, because it's me :D  
> One more left! 
> 
> As always I'd love to hear your thoughts on this!


End file.
